


Goldilocks and the Miller's Daughter//Goldilocks and the Glass Slipper//Goldilocks and the Fairy's Curse

by floraandfauna (irisgoddess)



Category: Original Work
Genre: East of the Sun West of the Moon, F/M, Other, also a bunch of other fairytales, i don't know how to tag ye xian as a character, rumplestiltskin (not by that name)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisgoddess/pseuds/floraandfauna
Summary: bits and pieces of a fantasy story that I may one day write the entirety of





	1. How Things Came To Be

"It's easy to judge," the old woman said, "but I might do the same if I was him."

"You wouldn't," Aysha replied. At the same time, Locks asked, "What's the story? I'm new here."

The old woman nodded. "Let me tell you." And then she began, in a practiced voice.

* * *

Once upon a time, a princess married a young king, and before the year was out she gave birth to a son.

The royal family invited every noble family in the realm to his naming, and many of them came, though not nearly as many who had attended their wedding. They raffled tickets to the common folk, and those that won got to borrow fine clothing for the evening. And they invited every fairy known to live within a hundred miles, although they expected none to come.

Why seven fairies accepted the invitation, when none had attended a royal naming in a hundred years, is not known to any mortal. Perhaps it was simply that exactly one hundred years had passed, and the fair folk are drawn to such patterns. Perhaps each fairy came to prove some sort of point to the other six. Or perhaps the rumors about the young queen and her eleven sisters drew them in.

Whatever it was, five fairies were immune to its pull: Carabosse on her thorny throne, sunset-gold Ilia, moonlight-silver Aylin, sweet-voiced Canachante, and Sycorax of the sapphire-blue sea all politely declined the king's invitation, citing other commitments.

And so, on the night of the naming, the king set out seven plates of solid gold for the guests of honor, and the young prince received seven gifts.

Adamante gave him a diamond crown, almost as cold and beautiful as the fairy herself.

Veiled Candor gave him the ability to tell when others were lying, so that he might be the greatest king the realm would ever have.

Farine of the wheat-flowers kissed the babe's forehead and gifted him beauty. When she pulled away his hair was fuller, and his eyes had the faintest hint of silver. Freshwater-spring Coulante followed Farine, as she always did, and gave the prince grace to match his new beauty.

Violente, in her golden armor, promised that the prince would win every battle he fought. As she did, she looked scornfully at Farine and Coulante, making it clear what she thought of their gifts.

Generous Miette--who unlike the others, took a form no larger than a hummingbird--flew up to the crib on gossamer wings, and gave him a golden coin, though she did not say what it was for.

And then it was the Last Fairy's turn. She had no other name, no other epithets. Her face was impassive and her clothes were plain, though made of satin and velvet. When you listed the fairies, you listed her last, and so she was known as the Last Fairy.

She addressed her gift to the parents, not the child: when the prince first saw the woman who was meant to be his queen, he would know at once who she was.

Not long after that, the festivities ended, and each fairy took home the golden plate she'd eaten off of.

Four years later, the queen had another son, and even less of the invitees showed up, and even fewer commoners signed up for the raffle. The king, of course, invited every fairy once again. Diamond-carved Adamante refused this time, but Canachante and her lovely voice accepted, as well as all the others who had come before.

This time, the fairies ate off plates of platinum, and had been thinking about gifts for four years.

Candor went first, and gave back the plate she had taken the last time, reforged into a gleaming shield, thin as a piece of parchment and yet strong as a stone wall.

Freshwater Coulante, four years wiser, gave him wit and intelligence. Powdered Farine again gave beauty, and the babe's eyes glinted silver to match his brother. 

Canachante, in her soft, melodic voice, gifted the young prince with a music box that sang a different tune every time.

Miette, on gossamer wings, repeated her gift of a mysterious coin, and bloody-minded Violente again promised that he would win any battle.

The Last Fairy promised that the first time he saw a person he could love absolutely, and would love him in return, he would know at a glance.

They took home their platinum plates and judged each other's gifts harshly.

The queen loved her sons very much, but decided to risk another pregnancy for a chance at a daughter. Two years later, one was born. The birth of a daughter was less momentus than a son to everyone but her, and so the king only invited those who had shown up for his second son's naming. The courtier in charge of sending the invites was not insightful enough to realize the fair folk should not be included in that order.

Sea-dwelling Sycorax did not notice that she was not invited, nor silver Aylin, nor golden Ilia. Glittering Adamante felt slighted—was the gift she had given his first son not good enough?—but other matters distracted her.

Carabosse noticed, from her thorny palace. She was not happy.

All of the fairies who were invited arrived, and ate from polished silver.

Candor of the crystal fountain gave back the platinum plate, reshaped into a beautiful mirror that showed the true face of all reflected in it.

Joyful Farine repeated her gift of beauty, and tender Coulante gave the princess wit to match. Violente again decreed the princes would win any battle she fought. 

Gossamer-winged Miette broke her pattern, and gave the princess gracefulness.

Lovely-voiced Canachante blessed the girl with the most beautiful voice a mortal could have.

And then slighted Carabosse arrived, in a gust of wind and flame. All eyes turned to her, the fairies more surprised than all the mortals combined. "My invitation did not arrive, Your Majesty. Am I not welcome?"

The king paled, trying to guess which univited fairy this was. "Of course you are. Let my servants fetch you a plate, my lady."

"I have not come to eat." Carabosse looked at the cradle. Now that she had been offered hospitality, it was unthinkable that she curse the babe. But that was not her only option. "I have a gift for the princess. On her sixteenth birthday, she shall die, pricked a tip of a spindle, and be freed from this cruel world forever."

"No!" cried the queen, forgetting herself.

Carabosse sneered. "If you were a wiser woman, you would see the value in my gift."

"I am not wise. I am just a mother!"

Canachante whispered in her lovely voice: "Once a gift is given, it is unthinkable to revoke it."

The queen sobbed.

"I am done here," said Carabosse, disappearing as suddenly as she had arrived, leaving the smell of burning wood behind.

The Last Fairy tilted her head thoughtfully. "Cry not, Your Majesty. I still have a gift to give."

The queen did not stop crying.

"The princess will indeed be freed from this cruel world by a spindle on her birthday—but not forever. She shall sleep unbothered for a hundred years, then be awakened by a kind prince. This I promise."

"Thank you," said the king, though what he wanted to do was scream at her for not doing more. 

The fairies took their leave then, leaving their silver plates behind.

And that was all, until the king decided to burn every spindle in the land.

* * *

"You're good at telling stories," Locks said. "It's a rare gift."

"I've honed it over time," the woman demured. "You could too."

"I do. Even when there's no one else to talk to."

Locks became more interesting every moment, Aysha thought. But what she said was: "It's an explanation, but not an excuse. Every shepard, farmer, and weaver in the kingdom suffers to save one girl. Every woman who spun a little flax on the side, to make ends meet. I don't care if it's the princess."

"Shepards and weavers suffer," Locks noted, "but criminals like you and I prosper."

"I wouldn't need to do this if the law was different," Aysha said defensively. "I'm not like that."

Locks shrugged. "I am. Perhaps I should send the king a thank-you gift."


	2. How We Got Here

Locks leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. "I have no idea how I got here."

"Tell me," the old woman said. "From the beginning."

"Okay."

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a very hungry girl, and a very fine cottage with an open window, and three cooling bowls of porridge.

She knew the porridge would fill her for a day, and the boxes upstairs would feed me for weeks if she could steal their contents. But her stomach was so empty and the porridge smelled so good, and besides, how could she know the fairy's trick would work if she was distracted by the pain in her abdomen? 

She shouldn't overeat, though. Too full of a stomach would slow her down. She tried the first bowl, but it burned her mouth. The second one was cold, and maybe such a hungry girl had no right to be picky, but maybe she didn't need to settle just because she had nothing.

Besides, the third one was just right.

Enough wasting time. The family would be back soon, and if they could get to their skins before her, she might be their meal.

She took the stairs two at a time, with the practiced steps of a thief who knew how to be quiet and fast. The chests were right where the fairy had promised, sealed with steel locks. But the girl knew how to get around locks.

She took the father's skin first. She focused as the fairy had told her to, pinching the magic with her fingers and pulling it away, leaving just a bearskin. It felt shimmery and gold as she absorbed it, somehow, which was silly. No one could feel colors.

After picking the second lock, she heard noise downstairs. Distracted, getting the second skin was harder. But she did it.

Below her, she heard the bear-people realize their food was gone. Stupid. If she hadn't eaten, they would not have checked upstairs for half an hour at least. The girl wondered if she should leave without the third, but the fairy was scarier than the bears.

The third lock was already open. Apparently the boy didn't like to fuss with keys. Good. His skin was much smaller, could be taken much faster. She heard footsteps on the stairs. There was a window, but it was too high to leap out of. She needed another plan.

The girl had been given half of her payment up front, since learning to steal skins was easier once you had two of your own. She didn't know how to use it. But—

The door was open. The father stood in it. The girl rushed him.

He thought she was trying to shove him down the stairs, and stepped forward. Right before she ran into him, she changed.

In the fox's skin she darted between his legs. The mother was right behind him. Most women didn't wear trousers, but this one did, so the girl could squeeze through her legs too. Again, she took the stairs two steps at a time.

The boy was at the bottom, which gave him time to prepare to block her. But they weren't so rich to have bannisters, so she just jumped sideways off the third step.

Smoothly—wearing another skin was so much easier than she had thought it would be—she changed to her own skin for a moment to open the door, used those longer legs to get to the treeline, then wore the fox again to hide in the greenery.

Later, the fairy let her keep the mother's skin, saying that the girl would grow into it. As for the other half of the payment—well, that's another story.

And that was all, until I learned organized crime paid better than anyone.

* * *

"I have no idea how you got here either," the woman said thoughtfully. "Except that all your practicing paid off. You're an excellent storyteller."

Locks shrugged. "It is what it is. What's your story?"

"I don't know how to tell it," the woman replied, "before I get to the palace east of the sun and west of the moon. Not the full story, anyways."

"Mine wasn't the full story either. Just tell me how you got your second skin."

The woman raised her eyebrows. "You can tell?"

"Yes."

"Well then. Let me try."

* * *

It was my own fault, really. When my husband refused to show me his face, visiting me only in complete darkness, I should have known not to light that candle. I don't know why he had to leave me for the far-away palace, but I have to believe he'll tell me once I find him. Why else would he tell where he was going?

West of the moon felt further than east of the sun, so I walked due east for a week, until I ran into a steep mountain. I found a trail that seemed like it would cross the mountain, but ended in front of a small cottage. There was a woman in a rocking chair on the porch, carding wood on a golden comb.

She was wearing the face you see on me now.

"You're lost," she said bluntly.

"Yes," I told her. "Do you have any water?" I was as thirsty as you were hungry.

"I do," she replied, and my water-skin filled up without her touching it. "But you will not find what you're looking for on the other side of this mountain?"

"Where, then?"

"In other people's stories, if you listen."

"How long will that take?"

"As long as it takes." She paused, looking through me. "Though perhaps you need some help. When people meet pretty girls like you, they'd rather talk about you than themselves."

The old woman pinched the skin on her wrist and peeled--but it wasn't her skin that peeled off, but a shimmer in the air. I felt it more than I saw it. It felt gold. When it came away, she was no longer an old woman, but a shadow with no face at all. She flicked her fingers, and the gold thing settled around me. My knees hurt.

"There," she said. "You are no longer someone people want to hear about."

"Thank you," I told her, because I didn't know what else to say. "Have... a good day."

With that, I left. A quarter of the way down the trail I figured out how to change back to someone with less joint pain. And then I came here, back to the kingdom I was born in, and wore my new face, and listened to people.

And now I wait to hear the story that takes me east of the sun and west of the moon.

* * *

"It's probably more than one story," Locks commented. "If it was just one story, she could tell it to you. But you need to piece together stories."

"Maybe."

Locks bit her lip. "The fairy I met glowed like the moon and always came from the west to meet me. And they say the fairy Ilia lives at the eastern edge of the world."

The old woman--the young woman, really--smiled. "Thank you. I hope that's what I'm looking for."


End file.
